Eve

If to love and to live freely is a sin, 

and we have Eve to thank for the creation of sin - 

let me thank you, Eve, with a tender kiss. 

(If you so wish, of course.) 

If you’d do me the honour, 

I would love nothing more than to 

enjoy a picnic with you in a field of wildflowers, 

on a warm yet fresh spring day. 

We could share an apple, 

(I would take the first bite to show you there’s nothing to fear),

and I would bring a freshly baked loaf of bread 

and a variety of cheeses from which you could choose. 

We could sip on pomegranate wine as we watched 

butterflies in all colours of the rainbow dance around us. 

I would pick flowers and fashion them into a crown 

to place carefully on your head; 

the butterflies would flock to adorn it, 

their iridescent wings glistening in the sun like jewels. 

Birds would gather round and start singing your praises 

to mark your coronation. 

As the sun grew lower in the sky,

we would start to feel a chill surround us; 

I’d see the goosebumps appear on your arm 

and I’d wrap the blanket I brought around your shoulders. 

If you were so inclined as to offer 

for me to squish myself up next to you

so we could share the blanket, 

I would feel my heart rate rising the closer we got. 

It would skip a beat entirely the moment our skin first touched. 

 

As the stars started coming out for the night, 

perhaps we could lay down together and stargaze, 

sharing warmth between us underneath the blanket. 

We could marvel at how for every star in the night sky 

there is and has been and will be one of us - 

all because of you. 

If you wanted to lay your head on my chest, 

I would hold you, stroke your hair, 

and sing sweet lullabies to you until you fell asleep. 

As I lay contentedly like this with you

my eyes would struggle to stay open, 

and as I felt myself slipping off into the land of dreams 

 I would muster all my remaining energy to mumble sleepily, 

“Thank you, Eve.”

Isabel Mya